Blue Morning, Blue Day
by Lizabeth S. Tucker
Summary: An accident and some straight talk from Frank has Milt taking Mark away for a relaxing vacation cruise to the Bahamas. But can these two go anywhere withoug finding trouble?
1. Chapter 1

Blue Morning, Blue Day

By Lizabeth S Tucker

(Originally printed in _Four Aces Beat a Full House #2, Vol. Three_)

1.

The heat of the afternoon sun was becoming intolerable to the weary Mark McCormick, pausing to lean against a handy seawall that ran along the back of the estate. He had promised Judge Hardcastle that he would clear up the debris from the storm that had raged for three days off the coast of Malibu while the Judge was in town with Lieutenant Frank Harper of the L.A.P.D. The storm had made the air thick and muggy, uncomfortable to work in, but Mark was determined to clean the mess up, so he was hard at work picking up the piles of driftwood, pieces of pier and the large clumps of seaweed that always appear when the Pacific turned ugly. His shirt, abandoned long ago, hung over the seawall, soaked in sweat. Mark's tan was becoming pink with sunburn, but he struggled on, dragging the refuse to a large pile near the access road. He would use the pickup when Hardcastle returned from town, driving the wreckage from the sea to the dump.

He glanced up at the sun, the smog giving the red orb a halo. Wiping his brow, McCormick loaded the last large pierce of broken pier piling onto his tidy looking hill of wreckage and pulled himself up to the rocky trail leading up to the estate from the beach, grabbing his shirt as he trudged by. Halfway up the hill, Mark slipped on the slick sand, catching his fall by grabbing a sharp-edged bush. Climbing slowly to his feet again, the ex-con looked at the front of his chest disgustedly. Plastered with wet sand and crushed sea grapes, Mark grimaced, feeling the grittiness on his abdomen, just above the waist of his half-opened cut-offs. He wiped at it, wincing when a stray sandspur raked a thin line of blood under his navel.

"Aw, shit!" His outburst brought a delighted chuckle from above him. Mark looked up to see Harper staring down at him. "Frank? You and Hardcase done with your little trip down memory lane?"

"Might say that, though I think Milt's gonna run over it for you tonight. Need a hand?" Harper flashed a dark-eyed smile at McCormick, reaching down and grasping the outstretched hand, pulling the dirty, disheveled man to the top of the hill.

"Oh, great, just what I need, another foray into the files," Mark replied, brushing himself off carefully after picking off a few tenacious thorns and spurs that stuck to his skin. Sighing, Mark saw Hardcastle stalking across the lawn toward him. "I guess I'm in trouble."

Frank Harper looked back in puzzlement. "Why?"

"I was told not to use this trail. The Judge thinks it's too steep and too dangerous. I thought I'd be done before you guys got back."

"If you knew that, why didn't you take the staircase leading to the beach?"

"It's clear down there. I finished that part early this morning. That part of the beachfront is protected, this isn't. And there's a break in the seawall here, so it wasn't that hard to use the path. Oh, boy, here it comes." Mark put on an innocent face, but the effect was marred by the tired lines around his face and eyes, the shadows under the blue orbs making them darker.

"McCormick! What did I tell you? Don't you ever listen to me?" Hardcastle's growl was audible long before the man had gotten within speaking range. "That trail is not to be used, ever!"

"Look, Milt…" Harper began, trying to deflect the Judge's anger away from McCormick.

"Frank, stay out of this," Hardcastle snapped. "This is between McCormick and me. Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Mark looked at Hardcastle, feeling his own ire rising, out of proportion considering the cause of the argument. He tried to calm himself, but his headache worsened while the three men stood in the sun's blazing rays and he knew that something would be said on his part that he would regret. With another sigh, Mark walked away, heading for the gatehouse.

Hardcastle looked after him in shock, starting to go after him, but Frank's tight grip on his arm stopped him. The Judge shook him off, but Frank merely grabbed his arm again. "Leave him alone, Milt. Let him go cool off."

"Frank! He can't just walk off on me like that, it's not right," Hardcastle said, annoyed.

"Give the kid a break, Milt. My God, have you looked at him lately? I mean, really looked at him?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I've looked at him. I see him at the breakfast table every morning, how could I miss him?" Hardcastle replied, watching the younger man disappear into the shadows near the small separate building where he lived, his shoulders slumped.

"I don't mean look at him, I mean see him. He's tired, bone tired. The kid is trying so hard to please you that he's wearing himself out. Don't push him, Milt. You could lose him."

Hardcastle stared at the concern on Harper's face. Of all the police officers that McCormick had met in their three years together, he and Frank seemed closer friends than with any of the others, although all the cops that came to know McCormick, liked and respected him. Most were surprised by his abilities, not the least of which was his ability to put up with the Hardcastle temper. Not only was McCormick able to weather the storms, but he also seemed to have a unique method of humoring the Judge out of them, even drawing the anger away from another person onto himself, if he felt the remarks undeserved by that individual. But lately, the two men had been snapping at each other constantly. Mark brooded about the house, doing the housework without the usual prodding on Hardcastle's part, even rising early in the morning to fix the Judge breakfast. Now that the Judge thought about it, McCormick was also up late at night, the light in the gatehouse on till well after midnight some evenings. "He's been busier than usual, I admit. So what? That's what he's here for."

"Damn it, Milt, open your eyes. He looks ready to drop from sheer exhaustion. What the hell have you had him doing?"

"Well, there was that loan sharking operation last month, the Triaffi murders the month before, the preliminaries on the drug smugglers the month before that," Hardcastle replied. "Nothing that unusual. So, he's a little beat. So am I."

"Yeah, but you're not working on the edge in those cases, trying to keep your wits about you so you won't be killed, and cleaning this mausoleum from top to bottom as well as doing all the yard work besides, are you? The only concession you allow him is having a pool man in once a month and a gardener who makes a visit every three months to tweak the lawn. This place would be too much for one person even if that was all they were doing. But for a man who's also doing your dirty work, it's a fast road to breakdown. When's the last time you gave him a vacation – a real one, not one of your working ones?"

"Well, we went on that camping trip in the mountains…" Hardcastle mused, his eyes thoughtful.

"Where the plane crashed and the two of you had to fight killers, bears and nature to survive. Try again."

"We went to the Judge's convention."

Frank snorted. "A syndicate meeting, a hit squad and you too cheap to get him his own room."

Hardcastle reddened. "How did you find out about that?"

"Mark happened to mention it when he was telling me what went on up there. Any other wonderful getaways? C'mon, Milt, even when you go for a nice trip by yourself, you get into trouble. Mark barely had time to visit his friends before you were busted for rape. Face it, Milt, you can find trouble faster than anyone I've ever met. And Mark is usually dragged into it with you. He needs rest. It hasn't been all that long since he was shot, remember?"

Hardcastle's face became shuttered, but not before Harper saw the flash of pain in his old friend's pale blue eyes. "He hasn't said anything about it."

"He wouldn't, Milt. You know that. Oh, sure, Mark complains about the little things, but only to annoy you. The important stuff he keeps hidden inside him, eating away at him. Think, man, what has he been like for the past month or so?"

"He hasn't been sleeping too well lately, dozes off in the truck a lot." Hardcastle realized, thinking back on the previous weeks. "Hasn't been that hungry lately either. Which is strange. That kid can eat more than some football teams."

"He's been looking older, too. He's tired, Milt. Do the both of you a favor and take him on a vacation to someplace where neither of you can get into trouble," Harper said, laying his arm around the Judge's shoulder. "And, for heaven's sake, get the boy some help here at the estate."

"I'll think about it. As to the vacation, maybe after we put Fenwick away." Hardcastle said. "He's been getting away with his little blackmail operation for…" Hardcastle's sentence was cut off by the sound of a shotgun firing from the direction of the den.

Harper and Hardcastle turned as one, staring at the shattered window that was behind Hardcastle's desk. The two men ran to the main house, looking for a sign of McCormick.

Skidding to a halt just inside the den, Hardcastle stared at the shotgun lying on the steps, then at McCormick standing over it. "What the hell did you do, McCormick?"

Harper looked at Mark and saw that he was white as a ghost, trembling uncontrollably. He put his hands on Mark's shoulders, guiding him to the nearest chair. Leaning down next to him, Harper saw in Mark's eyes a deep emptiness backed by fear. "Tell us what happened, Mark. It's okay. Nobody's hurt, just tell us how it went off."

McCormick's trembling continued as he tried to speak. "I…I was gonna clean up in here, dust the furn…iture and I picked up the shotgun…and was carrying it…to the…the gun cabinet…I couldn't feel it in my hands…it slipped…slipped out on the steps…then it went off…when it hit…scared me…"

"It's okay, Mark, no one was hurt."

"The hell it's okay!" Hardcastle shouted. "Ya don't take chances with a loaded weapon…"

"Shut up, Milt, shut the hell up!" Frank snapped, trying to hear the rest of what Mark was saying.

"…he coulda…been killed…oh, God, I'm gonna be sick…" Mark stumbled off, heading for the bathroom down the hallway.

Hardcastle stared after McCormick. "What's wrong with him?"

"Milt, look where the gun went off. It took the window out and part of the chair. The chair where you normally sit. All Mark can think of is you sitting there when that shotgun went off. Didn't you see it? He was terrified!"

"He did seem a little overly upset," Hardcastle offered.

"Milt, I swear, you are the blindest person it's ever been my pleasure to know. Now do you understand why I want you to take him away from here?" Harper pleaded with Hardcastle, as the retired jurist went to the hallway, looking for McCormick. "No more cases. If you put Mark undercover now, he could get killed. For all your fighting with him, I know you don't want the man hurt."

"No, never," Hardcastle whispered softly. "I've been pushing too hard?"

"Yes. I know you expect a lot from yourself as well as others around you, but you look for way too much from Mark. He tries desperately to fulfill your expectations. He wants your approval, needs it. Mark would work himself into an early grave to get it from you. Lighten up on him."

"Hell, I don't know why he should be tired. McCormick goofs off all the time. When I come back from town, I usually find him lazing by the pool."

"When's the last time you've been to town? Other than today? I've hard you yelling at him, how he doesn't do anything to earn his keep. You belittle him, Milt, how do you think he feels after one of your sessions?"

"I don't mean anything, he knows that," Hardcastle protested.

"The first few hundred times he might believe that, but lately you've been all over him for the slightest thing. Take it from someone who knows, a little criticism is easy to shrug off, constant attacks begin to make you think you're worth nothing," Frank said, frowning.

"I wasn't thinking about how he'd take it. I guess I was just taking out my frustrations on him. Do you know how few cases we've been on these past few months? All the others were accidental, situations we stumbled over. Maybe I have been a little testy. I thought he'd understand."

Harper smiled, patting the Judge on his arm. "He does, really. But it doesn't mean Mark doesn't try too hard sometimes to please you. You mean a lot to him. And I know what he means to you. Just don't destroy that relationship."

McCormick came shuffling down the hall, his eyes on the floor as he went past Hardcastle carrying a broom.

"Where do you think you're going?" Hardcastle growled, shocked at the lost look on McCormick's face.

"Gonna clean up the mess I made," McCormick mumbled, trudging to the window.

"Leave it," Hardcastle ordered.

"Huh? Can't. Glass all over, somebody might step on it."

"I'll get it later. Why don't you give the glass man a call, ask him when he can come fix it?" Hardcastle took the broom away, gently pushing McCormick to the phone. "Go on, kid. And while you're at it, why don't you call my travel agent and book us a passage to Nassau?"

McCormick froze, the phone halfway to his ear. "What?"

"Are you deaf, too? I said, book us a cruise to the Bahamas."

Harper looked away in embarrassment as he saw the shocked smile spread across McCormick's face, the love and respect shining out of his bloodshot eyes.

"Alright!" The smile slipped a bit. "For when?"

"As soon as he can get us a boat out of Miami. Oh, and I want a minimum of two weeks, got it?" Hardcastle instructed gruffly.

"Yes, sir." Mark started flipping through the Judge's Rolodex, pulling two cards out. "Nassau, here we come!"

Harper moved next to Hardcastle. "Very good, Milt. Oh, and try to stay out of trouble there. We have good relations with the Bahamas. Let's try and keep it that way, huh?"

"Funny, Frank, very funny."

"Maybe. But that's the most enthusiasm I've seen out of him in ages."

"Yeah, you've got a point. Aw, this might not work out too badly after all. A relaxing cruise, a little gambling on Paradise Island, might be nice."


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Mark finished unpacking, hanging up the one and only suit he brought in the closet, then moved to unpack Hardcastle's bags. The suite was larger than Mark had expected from the usually cheap Judge. Two large double beds, a view of the ocean and a separate dressing room for a fourteen day cruise to Nassau and Freeport in the Bahamas. It was an hour till sailing, but Mark wanted everything to be stowed away so he wouldn't miss the sail-off festivities. McCormick had managed to catch a few episodes of THE LOVE BOAT when he couldn't convince the Judge to watch HUNTER instead. He knew all about the romantic interludes he could fall into and was looking forward to it. Hardcastle was up on deck arranging some tours of the ship, at Mark's request. He had never been on a cruise before, never even imagined he would take such a trip. Hardcastle's sudden decision to get away from California had taken him by surprise, but a very pleasant surprise.

Mark decided to try out the bed nearest the picture window. He lay back on the soft mattress, sinking into what seemed to be a fluffy cloud. "I'll just close my eyes for a sec, then go find the Judge." Mark yawned, his eyes dropping.

He was still on the bed when Hardcastle came in search of him. Before sailing, all cruise boats would have a drill wherein passengers got their life jackets and went to their lifeboat stations. Hardcastle walked into the cabin and saw McCormick sound asleep. He reached forward to shake him awake, hesitating when he looked at the slack features. There were lines by the eyes, across the forehead and by the mouth. Ever since Harper had mentioned it, Hardcastle had watched McCormick, looking for signs of exhaustion. They weren't hard to find, now that his eyes were opened. He needed his sleep more than some silly drill. The Judge picked up his orange jacket and tiptoed out of the room.

Dinner time came and went and still Mark slept on. Hardcastle was getting worried. They had been at sea for five hours and McCormick hadn't moved once. He leaned down next to the kid and laid his hand on McCormick's back, pushing him slightly into the bed. "Wake up, kiddo, you're gonna miss the whole trip."

Mark rolled over, snuggling closer to Hardcastle's leg. His eyes opened for a moment, then closed, not really awake.

"Come on, McCormick, I didn't pay all this money so you could sleep for two weeks. Wake up."

Two blue eyes looked blankly at the Judge, life slowly returning to them. "Whadya want?"

"How do you feel?"

"Sleepy. Better than yesterday." Mark frowned. "Hungry. When do we eat?"

"You missed afternoon brunch and dinner, but you might have a chance at the midnight snack. That is, if you can manage to get up, clean yourself off, and stay awake. Think you can handle it?"

With a sleepy nod, Mark rolled out of bed and fumbled through the closet, pulling out a fresh pair of jeans and a ragged workshirt, heading for the bathroom.

Hardcastle fixed McCormick's bed, pulling the sheet into something resembling neatness. When Mark came out of the bathroom, he looked more alert, his hair damp from the quick shower he had taken. But the eyes were clear and he had a grin plastered across his face.

"Ready to go?" Hardcastle asked, shaking his head at the outfit.

"Yep, I'm starving. How long before midnight?"

"Not too long. We can look around the ship, go into the lounge and watch a show, get a drink. C'mon, kiddo, it's your vacation, what do you want to do?"

"Have fun. No rules and regulations, no schedules or bad guys, just lots of unplanned fun. How's that sound?"

"Pretty good, McCormick, pretty good." Hardcastle slapped Mark on the back as they walked out to the hall. "Let's get started."

"Come on, Judge, we're docking! Don't you want to watch?" Mark tugged at the Judge's arm, wanting him to come out on deck. Hardcastle had found a few friends who liked to sit around and talk about law, leaving Mark free to scout up a few interesting ladies on the boat. Most seemed to have eyes only for the officers on the ship, but Mark managed to find a couple who were willing to go with him to movies on board, dances with when he got up enough nerve, and generally keep him company while Hardcastle was otherwise occupied.

"Alright, McCormick, I'm coming! I've seen boats dock before, you know." Hardcastle followed the younger man out onto the deck, squeezing through the pack of people who were also watching the ship arrive in Nassau. It was a lovely old village, a long concrete runway leading form the ships to the main street of town. There were booth-like structures set up near the dock where locals sold straw articles, like hats and dolls, pocketbooks and hot pads for the kitchen, as well as conch shells and jewelry handmade form tiny shells picked off the sandy beaches surround Nassau.

"I haven't, and I've already missed our leaving Miami. I don't want to miss anything else. I'm gonna see everything!" Mark replied, leaning over the side, watching how the boat brushed against the wood pilings covered with old tires.

"You're worse than a kid, you know that?" Hardcastle had to yell to be heard over the screaming whistles of the tugboats that helped guide their liner to its berth.

"Aw, you're just upset 'cause that Mr. Wilson guy cleaned you out at poker last night. Hey, Judge?" Mark turned to look Hardcastle in the face, oblivious to the press of people around them.

"What?"

"Are you enjoying yourself? I mean, we could catch a flight home if you're bored," Mark asked anxiously, his eyes searching for signs of boredom.

"Have you had fun?" Hardcastle countered.

"Yes. Yes, I have. It's been the nicest two and a half days in ages, Judge. But I don't think you've liked it very much."

"What makes you say that?"

Mark turned away, moving back through the crush and sitting down on an empty deck chair. "'cause you've been avoiding me. The only time I see you is when we eat breakfast and dinner, and at night in the cabin." Mark picked at a stray piece of canvas, worrying it with his fingers. "Is this sorta a…goodbye gift?"

Hardcastle sat down next to McCormick, reaching out and, holding the younger man's chin, turned his head so he could see his face. His fingers still on Mark's chin, Hardcastle replied, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"You've been so nice to me, taking this vacation, putting off the case I know you were planning with Frank Harper." His eyes dropped to the ground and Hardcastle let go of his face.

"You stupid…I swear, I don't understand how your brain works…" Hardcastle began.

Mark jumped up, running down the hall, pushing through the people eager to disembark the ship to explore Nassau. Hardcastle tried to go after him, but couldn't manage to break through fast enough to catch him. "McCormick! Wait up!"

He pushed back to the railing, watching Mark McCormick disappear into a crowd of happy tourists. "Damn that kid, where does he get these ideas? Aw, when he cools off, he'll be back, then we'll straighten this out. Stupid kid." Hardcastle went back to their cabin to wait for his hotheaded friend.

McCormick walked hurriedly to where the pier ended and the main street of Nassau started. Looking right and left, Mark saw a shop which rented out motorbikes. Digging deep into his pockets, he found two twenties and a five, more than enough to rent a method of transportation. He needed to get away from Hardcastle and the ship and the scene he knew was bound to happen sooner or later. "I tried so hard, really I did." Mark stopped at the pane glass window, resting his forehead against the coolness.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?"

Mark turned to see a twelve-year-old girl looking at him worriedly. "Yeah, I'm okay, just looking at their bikes."

"You don't wanna rent those. Ol' man Thornton will take you over the bumps."

"You're an American, aren't you?" Mark asked, catching the tough of Yankee in the girl's voice.

"Yep. My folks live here now. If you really want a motorbike, there's a place about a block away from here. They're at least ten bucks cheaper a day." Her nose was splattered with freckles, the dark hair pulled back into a long, thick pont tail. "Interested?"

"Yeah, lead on, sweetheart."

Mark followed the girl through the winding streets leading to old Nassau. The bike was almost half of what it would've cost him at the tourist shop near the pier. "'preciate this. Look, you need a ride home? Hop on."

The girl's smile lit up her face, showing the beauty she was destined to be when she hit her teens. "That'd be nice. What's your name?"

"Mark. What's yours?"

"Mandy. You're pretty nice for a tourist, Mark."

"Thanks, Mandy. You'll have to show me the way to your home," Mark said. "Hey, do you hafta be back right away? I've never been here before and I need a guide. How'dya like the job? It doesn't pay much, but I'll treat you to lunch and admission to all the places we go see."

Mandy nodded vigorously. "Yeah, that'd be great! Where do you want to go first?"

"You're the native, I'm the tourist, you decide," Mark replied, kicking the starter on the bike.

"Follow the coast road. I'll show you the beaches and we can hit the Fort for lunch."

McCormick made certain Mandy was hanging on tightly to his waist as they started down the road leading out of the tourist section and past the hotels and mansions owned by some of the older residents of the island. Mark enjoyed the sightseeing, but one part of him wished Hardcastle was there to enjoy it with him. They neared the part of the coast that wasn't packed with stores, McDonald's, Burger Kings and Kentucky Fried Chickens. The water was a crystal blue slapping against a blinding white beach. Mark pulled the bike up in a spare parking slot, climbing off the vehicle when Mandy jumped off.

"This is…beautiful," Mark breathed, his eyes on the tranquil waters. There were black couples walking on the public beach, a few older whites selling cola in bottles, cooling off in large metal kegs of ice. Young kids and teenagers played in the ocean.

Mark kicked his sneakers off, leaning against the bike to pull his socks off. He enjoyed the feel of the sand squishing between his toes, the warmth of the sun on his back, filtering through his shirt. It didn't seem as hot as L.A. and for that, Mark was grateful.

"Not bad, huh?" Mandy said, walking side-by-side with Mark. "We used to live in Boston, but I don't ever wanna go back."

"I can understand why you love it here. I feel the same about…about this place I live." Mark strolled to the water, trailing his right foot in the gentle surf.

"Where's that?"

"Malibu. In California."

"You gotta girlfriend there?"

"Nah, I used to have a friend, a guy who was kinda like my father, who I was living with."

"What happened?"

"Mandy, you ask a lot of questions, you know that?" Mark said sternly, his eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, but you'll never find anything out if you don't ask."

"True, hon, very true. Shall we head on to that fort you were talking about?" Mark asked, taking the skinny arm of his new friend and escorting her back to the waiting motorbike.

"Okay."

"What time will your folks be expecting you back?"

"Not till ten. Mom is on one of the out islands and Dad is working late at the hotel. He's the manager," Mandy explained, clutching tightly to Mark's waist as he veered around a slow-moving mule-driven carriage. The road curved around, leaving the houses, public-access beaches and motels far behind. Soon there was only unspoiled sand and stubby palm trees, bent from years of storms. The mini bike zoomed along the highway, Mark and Mandy enjoying the whip of wind through their hair.

"Hey," Mark called back to the young girl. "Don't your parents worry about you talking to strangers like this?"

"No such thing as a stranger, just a friend I haven't made. 'sides, they trust my judgment." Mandy shouted back over the noise.

"Oh, yeah? And how do I look to you?"

"Nice, but sad. Kinda like Freddy, my best friend in third grade."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he ran away from home 'cause he thought his dad didn't love him anymore."

Mark was struck by the closeness of the girl's observation. "I can see why your parents trust you. Still, it's a bad thing picking up men you haven't met before. Don't do it again, okay?"

"Okay, Mark." Mandy prodded him in the shoulder, pointing to a coral entryway that led to the Fort's parking lot.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

"I'm telling you, something must've happened to McCormick. He's been gone all day!" Hardcastle yelled at the purser, the lights on the ship breaking up the darkness falling on the pier.

"Sir, you're within your rights to report your friend as missing to the local police, but there isn't much we or they can do about it. The missing person rule here is the same as the States, your friend must be gone for at least 24 hours before he's officially missing. And with a cruise ship, they don't really start looking until the ship has sailed, figuring that person may have taken up with a local girl. I'm sorry, Mr. Hardcastle, but that's the way things are run in the islands. If you'll excuse me asking, could Mr. McCormick be with a girl here, or possibly dealing a little weed? Lots of people his age do that sort of business in Nassau. It's a little more expensive than in Jamaica, but cheaper than the States."

His face stormy, Hardcastle's voice rose even louder than it already was. "McCormick doesn't have anything to do with drugs."

"I'm sorry, sir, but there have been other cases in the past. In fact, about five years ago, there was a killing of a few tourists who stumbled into a drug buy. It was never solved, even though the dead man's wife managed to take a video of the killing. Horrible business, that."

"I expect so. The local cops won't do anything about McCormick's disappearance/"

"I really am sorry, sir. We don't sail until tomorrow morning for Freeport. He'll probably show up before then. And even if he misses the boat, he can catch a shuttle plane that goes to Freeport from here."

A ruckus outside near the gangplank drew Hardcastle's attention. He went to the portal and saw some crewmen arguing with a little girl. She was struggling with one of the men while he tried to keep a tight hold on her.

"Let me go! I have to see Judge Hardcastle, please!" The girl screamed, kicking the crewman in the shins, running straight into Hardcastle who steadied her with a sure hand.

"Let me go!" The girl struck out, the Judge barely catching her fist before it hit his face.

"Hey! Stop it! You wanted to see Judge Hardcastle. Well, that's me."

The girl stopped, looking up at the Judge with tears brimming over the ends of her lashes. "You're Hardcastle? You gotta help. Mark's in trouble."

Hardcastle gripped her by the arms, rushing her into the lounge. "What's happened with McCormick? Where is he?"

"They've got him. Judge, they'll kill him. We heard everything." She gasped, shaking in Hardcastle's grip.

"Slow down. First off, who are you?" Hardcastle asked, trying to make sense of the girl's tale.

"I'm Mandy. I was showing Mark around and we went to the old Fort to eat lunch, and then we…"

"How was that?" Mandy asked, wiping her mouth off of mustard and a stray piece of chopped onion.

"Not bad, sweetheart, not bad at all." Mark sat back on the bench, his stomach filled with three hotdogs, a large order of fries and a Jamocha shake. "What now, Mandy?"

"Well, if you feel like it, we can take the tour through the lower levels or we could go see the old lighthouse. Oh, and there's the caverns on the opposite end of the island. Would you like to see that? They're really pretty, glow in the dark type stuff."

"Sounds nice. I won't have to scuba or swim, will I?" Mark asked dubiously.

"Nope. Just wade a little through some ankle-deep water."

"I can handle that. Okay, kiddo…" Mark bit his lip, the endearment reminding him of the Judge. "Mandy, if I wanted to stay here, would I need a passport or a green card to get a job?"

"You wanna live here? That'd be terrific, Mark! Gee, I don't know. I think you have to get some sort of visa from the government. Dad has a resident visa to work and live here. I don't know if you need anything else, but my Dad could tell you. Come back to the house with me tonight and you can see him."

"I'll have to slip back on the ship, get my things. I don't have much with me but it's better than just having the clothes on my back."

"Are you sure? I mean, what about your friend, won't he miss you?" Mandy asked.

McCormick nodded sadly. "Maybe a little. But I think he was ready to give me my pink slip anyway. Most people do that after they know me a while."

Mandy touched Mark's hand. "I wouldn't."

"Give it some time, Mandy, you will. Don't fret, it comes with the territory. I'm getting used to it." Mark relented when he saw the sad look in his young friend's eyes. "Don't sweat it, honey. I'll make out. Do you think I could get a job here, if the government approves of my staying?"

"What can you do?" Mandy asked, her sense of the practicality coming to the fore.

Mark shrugged. "Well, I've gardened and cleaned house. I can race cars or fix them." Mark laughed. "I can pick a lock or hotwire a car in seconds flat, but I don't think that would be a good thing to put on a job application, do you?"

"You're a thief?" Mandy asked with awe in her voice.

"Don't romanticize it, Mandy. I did two years in prison for car theft. Prison is someplace I don't ever want to go back to. It's not romantic or very nice. It's a horrible place to be and I wouldn't repeat it for all the money in the world." Mark's voice shook as he tried to impress upon the twelve year old the stupidity of crime.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I guess I never thought about it like that. Crooks are always the heroes on TV and in books, in the movies, too. I guess I never wondered about what they did after they were caught, where they went."

"Doesn't matter. C'mon on, let's se these caves of yours, then we'll go toalk to your dad. Hope he doesn't mind an uninvited visitor."

They took the bike and motored a few more miles up the coast, driving off the paved road onto a sandy path that led to some above ground caves a few feet off the coastline. Mark helped Mandy off the bike, laying it on the dry sand. They walked to the nearest cave and, wading through the shallow water, entered the darkness. Mark stood there in the opening, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. Soon he could make out vague shapes in the cave's interior and he tagged along after Mandy's surefooted traipsing.

As they moved father and farther away from the entrance, Mark saw the phosphorus glow in the walls, an eerie blue and white haze.

"Wow."

Mandy grinned, her teeth flashing in the shadows. "Thought you'd like it. Come on." Mandy took Mark's hand, leading him deeper into the cave, slowing when the footing got treacherous.

Mark thought he heard speaking from a side tunnel in the cave and put his hand over Mandy's mouth. He whispered in her ear, "shh, somebody else is in here."

Motioning her to stay against the wall, Mark moved closer to the low rumble and strained to listen.

A male voice echoed from the hidden chamber. "That's too much money, Jack. I need to make some money, not lose it. Your price means I either have to raise my price on the street higher than anybody else, or cut my profits down to almost nothing."

Another voice, apparently belonging to the man called Jack, replied. "I can't help your problems, my friend. You could always try to find another seller."

"Jack, you know I can't find anyone at such short notice. Christ, man, my last two contacts down here turned up dead. I need the coke, and I need it now!"

Mark backed away, motioning Mandy to start for the entrance of the cave. So intent on Mandy, Mark didn't see the rift in the floor of the cave and stumbled into it. The sound of his fall rang out like a shot and Mark knew they would be caught if they didn't hurry.

"Run, Mandy, run!" Mark pulled at his right foot, but it was wedged in the crack too tightly to pull out. "Run! Get Judge Hardcastle, back at the Aldoria."

"What about you?" Mandy cried out, backpedaling to the cave's entrance.

"I'm stuck! You've gotta get help. Mandy, for God's sake, run!" Mark heard the clatter of feet and reached for a nearby rock. "Go now. I'll hang on till you get back, I promise."

Mandy looked at McCormick, smiled weakly, then turned and ran, her young legs pumping as fast as they could.

McCormick waited until he could see a shadow approaching the turn of the tunnel, hefting the two-pound hunk of coral in his hand. It was large, almost too large to throw, but it was all he had.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"And then I heard a shot. I almost went back, but Mark was so sure you were his only hope and if I didn't get away to tell you, how would you know what happened?" Mandy finished, sitting next to Hardcastle in the back of a police car, her father on the other side of her. They were speeding to the caves, although no one held out much hope of finding the drug dealers there, McCormick might still be trapped in it. No one mentioned the fact that McCormick might be found dead there.

The two Bahamian police officers, their weapons ready, led the way into the cave. When their flashlights revealed no hidden gunmen, they allowed Hardcastle and Mandy inside, her father a step behind.

She pulled Hardcastle to the place where she had last seen Mark. "He was here. See the crack in the floor?"

The Judge borrowed a flashlight from one of the officers before they went to make a search of the tunnels. He shone it on the rift as he knelt next to it. He found scrapes of skin and a bit of blood where the foot had been yanked out of its prison, but no other blood. "He wasn't shot."

Mandy's father knelt on one knee by Hardcastle. "How can you be sure?" he asked, his arm around Mandy's waist.

"Well, Mr. Greene, if McCormick had been shot, there'd be more blood. He must've managed to rip his foot out of here. Either he's on the run, or they have him and took him with them."

"Why? Why not kill him here?" Greene countered.

"Because of me," Mandy said. "Isn't that it, Judge?"

"Yes, that's what I suspect." Hardcastle explained it to Greene. "They probably heard McCormick yelling to your daughter. But I doubt if they ever actually saw her."

"They would assume I was an adult, huh?" Mandy guessed, her hand clutching at Hardcastle's larger one.

"That's what I'd guess. If I were them, I certainly wouldn't think his companion would be a child."

"I'm not all that young, you know," Mandy protested.

"Mandy, behave." Mr. Greene admonished.

"No, it's okay. She reminds me of…well, someone else who is always saying the same thing," Hardcastle said.

"Mark, huh?" Mandy patted the Judge's hand before she stood up. "He'll be okay. And when he comes to live here, I'll look after him for you."

"Live here? Mandy, what are you talking about? Mark can't live here in Nassau, that would break his agreement with the courts."

Mandy looked at her feet, kicking at the rocks. "He wasn't happy. He said that the people he loves always start hating him and that…"

"That what, Mandy? It's okay, I need to hear it."

"Well, Mark said that he would be getting his pink slip soon. That means being fired, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does," Hardcastle replied. "But he's wrong. And I have to find a way to prove that to him."

"But first, we have to find your friend," Greene observed. "And that won't be easy. I hate to say it, but people disappear in the islands all the time. Most are never found. Some are found in pieces after the sharks finish with them. I'm sorry, but it's a fact of life in a country that encourages drug dealers to launder their money in the Bahamian banks, refuel their transport planes on the more obscure islands, and rarely make any effort to stop dealers from living and working here."

"So sorry, Judge Hardcastle, but there is no sign of your friend or the men who were overheard by the young lady. We will put out an alert on Mr. McCormick." One of the white Bahamian police officers said, returning from the tunnels in the back of the cave.

"Thank you." Hardcastle climbed shakily back to his feet, walking back into the evening's glow. Standing on the beach, the Judge looked around him. "You didn't take the motorbike, did you?"

"No, I ran. I left the bike for Mark, in case he got away." Mandy replied. Catching on, she whipped her head around, but the bike was nowhere in sight. "Does that mean Mark got away?"

"I don't know. I suppose the guys you overheard could've taken it," Hardcastle mused.

Mark pitched the rock, startling one of the approaching men into firing his weapon. "Damn, they're armed. Why me?" He asked the ceiling of the cave. Knowing it was now or never, Mark gripped his ankle tightly and yanked the trapped leg out of the crack, scraping his skin off in the process. He half-ran, half-stumbled out of the cave, heading for the bike.

He heard the men coming out after him, a bullet winging its way too closely to McCormick's head for his peace of mind. The bright sun, now sinking into the ocean, still cast long and misleading shadows across the land, giving Mark enough cover and time to start the bike and take off on the beach, weaving slightly to avoid a stray bullet.

Taking a side path that lead to a curvy paved road, Mark found himself being followed by two other bikes, the men from the cave breathing down his neck. Jack and his friend had put away their guns, but Mark wasn't sure he'd have much of a chance if they caught up with him. One of the men was as large as Hulk Hogan and the other was about fifty pounds heavier and a foot taller. It didn't look good.

Darting from street to lane and back again, Mark found himself totally confused as to where he was relative to the cruise ships, and he still hadn't managed to shake his two tails. The bike coughed as he pressed it for more speed to beat one of the few traffic lights in Nassau. Mark glanced at the gas gauge and frowned. He was already showing empty and he didn't think his new friends would be inclined to let him stop for a fill-up.

Mark spotted a long line of stairs a block ahead of him, shrugged, and persuaded the bike to hang on, just a little while longer, driving up the bumpity incline. He was raised up off the seat, the back end of the bike flipping right and left. Only Mark's sure handling kept the vehicle from going completely out of control.

If he remembered the travel brochures from the cruise ship correctly, the steps led to the old lighthouse which was opened for tourists until late at night. If he could make it there, Mark figured he could hide in the large crowd of tourists. The bike came to abrupt halt as Mark slung it sideways to avoid the metal barricades erected across the entryway to the lighthouse. He jumped off the bike, running for the overfilled elevator to the roof.

"Excuse me, squeezing in, please." Mark scrunched himself between the door and a fat lady with a fatter pocketbook clutched tightly in front of her. He watched the floor indicator anxiously, wondering if his pursuers had seen him duck inside.

Mark popped out the door when it opened at the top of the lighthouse, the crush of people streaming out of small box meeting the crush of people trying to take the elevator back down to street level. Mark stationed himself near the stairs, watching for the two drug dealers to appear from either entrance. While waiting, Mark searched for a policeman, but none were in sight.

"Oh, boy." One of the men stood at the stairs, his hand hidden inside his windbreaker. There was an amused smile on the stranger's face, as if he knew Mark couldn't get away.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that the other one was downstairs, waiting for him. Mark backed up slowly toward the elevator, threading his way through the annoyed tourists. The elevator doors opened and Mark found himself face to face with a black Bahamian cop.

A grin breaking out on his face, Mark flashed the finger to the drug dealer. "Boy, am I glad to see you! I'm being chased by some…"

"Are you Mark McCormick?" The officer interrupted, checking his notepad. "We have an alert put out on you."

"Okay, Mandy made it to the Judge." Mark took the cop by the arm, turning back into the elevator car with him. "You have just brightened up my day." He smiled at the curious crowd of staring Americans, Brits, and other nationalities who had heard the officer's comment about the alert.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hardcastle, but the ship is leaving. Will you be coming with us, or staying on Nassau?" The Captain of the S. S. Aldoria found Hardcastle in the lounge with Lieutenant Utombra of the Bahamas Police.

"I already cleaned our cabin out, moved the clothes to the Island Princess. We'll meet in Freeport as soon as McCormick shows up." Hardcastle answered, shaking the Captain's hand.

"I'm very sorry this happened, sir. Needless to say, it doesn't do much for the tourist trade for someone to disappear like this. I hope your friend shows up in the same condition he left in."

"So do I," the Judge replied, sick of hearing apologies from everyone. He wanted action! Hardcastle walked off the ship with Lt. Utombra, Mandy and her father waiting at the dock. Utombra had done his utmost to keep Hardcastle from staying in the Islands, urging him to go home and let the local police handle the situation, but Hardcastle would have none of it, insisting on moving to a local hotel and doing what he could to assist the search.

"I know McCormick will contact one of us. He won't know where I am, but you did tell him where you live, didn't you, Mandy?"

"Not exactly, but he could find out from the bike shop or try the hotels. I did mention that my dad was a manager at one. I've got all my friends keeping an eye out for him, Judge. Lots of them hire out as guides to the tourists, so they get around. If Mark's on this island, they'll find him."

"Children should not be involved in this, your honor. It is best to leave these things to those who are trained for them," Utombra protested, his lilting British accent taking away some of the sting of his words.

"Huh, lots of luck you've had with the others who have disappeared here," Greene retorted, his daughter snuggling against his chest. "Judge, rest assured that the other hotels have been notified about McCormick. If he contacts any of them, they will call me and I will pass the message along to you. We will find your friend, count on it."

Hardcastle got into the waiting taxi, telling him where he would be staying. "I have your phone number. If I find McCormick first, I'll call you." He looked at Mandy's tearstained face. We'll find him, Mandy. That kid has been through too much to give up now."

Mandy managed a watery smile, nodding at the Judge. "And you'll tell him how much you love him, right?"

"Uh," Hardcastle hesistated, the young girl's question throwing him off.

"Mandy, mind your own business," Mr. Greene told his daughter sternly, an eye on Hardcastle.

As the Judge drove off, he heard Mandy's plaintive question to her father.

"Where is Mark, Daddy?"

Mark shook his head, his eyes refusing to focus and his headache making it difficult to concentrate. He remembered going with the police officer, getting into the tiny patrol car and the cop driving him back to the fort. He had thought that was a little strange, but the officer assured him that there was a small station there, convenient for the tourists. They had pulled up outside the closed exhibit and Mark preceded the officer inside. That was the last thing he did remember, other than waking up with his arms hanging above his head.

McCormick guessed that he was in the old prison part of the dungeon, but other than that, he didn't know. Hardcastle was gonna be really upset. Mark didn't know what time it was, but the ship was supposed to sail sometime early in the morning and from the light filtering through the cracks in the covered window, it was past that.

Pulling at the shackles on his arms only succeeded in making his wrists sore. He could stand straight and release the strain on his arms if he stood on his tip-toes, but his leg was beginning to cramp from the stretched out position. He should've stayed near the beach and the caves, Mandy and Hardcastle would never be able to find him at this rate.

There was a rattling and the door opened, creaking like an old horror movie. The larger man stepped through, followed by the police officer holding a gun.

"Mr. McCormick, it seems you have some important friends in the Bahamas. There is an alert out on you and our governments are eager to get you back. I would guess that you are an important drug agent for your country, yes?"

"A cop? Me? No way, man. We were sightseeing and stumbled onto you." Mark shook his head again, his hair falling into his eyes. "Hey, if the cops are looking for me, don't ya think you should let me go?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. It may be true what you said, but you've seen us. You could tell someone what you heard and that is something we can't allow. We know now that your young friend didn't hear nor see anything, so she will remain safe."

"Thank God," Mark murmured.

"Now we must make certain that no sign of you is found."

"Oh, and how do you plan to do that?" Mark wasn't sure if he really wanted to know, but couldn't resist asking the question.

"This is part of the lower reaches of the old fort. It has been condemned as too dangerous for the public and will be sealed over in three days. For the time being, no one comes close enough for anyone to see or hear if you should try screaming for help."

Mark found it difficult to suppress a shiver at the thought of being alone in the dark room. "So, all I have to do is hang on three days until the men come to seal the place and they'll hear me."

"Perhaps, if you're still alive and conscious at that time, but those men will be especially chosen and will ignore any unusual sounds they might hear. You will someday be found here and become a part of the exhibit on the cruelties of the early Spanish era. I'm sorry that this will be goodbye, Mr. McCormick. I certainly hope you had a good lunch yesterday. It was your last meal." The man laughed, closing the heavy door behind him.

He knew it was up to him to get out. Mark began to pull at the shackles, hoping to either work them out of the wall or slip his wrists through the metal circles.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

"It's been two days since McCormick disappeared! Aren't you any closer?" Hardcastle paced the office of Lt. Utombra, his nerves frazzled by the lack of clues. "Somebody must've seen him after he fled the cave. That part of the island isn't as busy as near the docks, but there are still tourists around. The golf course is only a mile past that."

"As I told you before, Judge Hardcastle, you aren't accomplishing anything by staying here in Nassau. Your cruise ship will be leaving Freeport tomorrow morning, surely you wish to be on it?" Utombra tried again to convince the Judge to leave, but the American would not.

Mandy Greene came bursting into the office, without a look at the black officer behind the desk. "Judge, someone's seen Mark!"

Hardcastle gripped Mandy's arms. "Where?"

"My friend, Jamie, was leading some British tourists through the lighthouse when he saw Mark. Said he noticed him 'cause Mark looked winded and he was limping, his ankle all scraped up."

"That isn't very conclusive, Judge Hardcastle," Utombra commented.

Mandy glared at the lieutenant, continuing. "Jamie also said that there was a man watching Mark, but a copper, a police officer, took Mark away. Jamie loves the American cop shows, so he edged closer to hear what was going on."

"And?" Hardcastle asked, listening to every word.

"And the copper said there was an alert out on him and to come along." Mandy finished breathlessly. "It took Jamie a while to find me, but he saw Mark yesterday afternoon."

Hardcastle turned on the still seated Utombra. "One of your men picked Mark up yesterday? What happened to him?"

"If the child is correct, I will find out the truth of the matter. Rest assured, Judge Hardcastle. I will, of course, question my men at roll call tomorrow."

"No, I want them called in now. Every…Mandy, was the policeman who took Mark with him black or white?" Hardcastle asked the girl.

"I don't know, but I brought Jamie with me, I thought you might want to talk to him."

"Good girl. Bring him in here." While Mandy went to get her friend, Hardcastle gave instructions to the disconcerted officer. "If the boy's description isn't sufficient to pinpoint the police officer who took Mark from the lighthouse, I'll expect a line-up or a book of photos of your men."

"Judge Hardcastle, I want to find your friend as much as you do, but I simply can't interrupt my men's regular duties."

"May I remind you of my government's feelings on the ease that drug runners operate on these so-called friendly islands. It wouldn't be that hard to station the Coast Guard or the U.S. Navy off these waters, just outside your three-mile limit, reactivate the old Caribe force of Bahamian and American police to investigate the involvement of certain members of the government and police officers." Hardcastle held his breath. While the local embassy had spoken quite strongly to the Bahamian government regarding this and past disappearances, the Judge found it doubtful that anything would actually be done. All that mattered was is if Utombra believed that could happen.

"Of course, you have my whole department's cooperation. It is not necessary to call in your government in this minor…this case."

Mandy came back in, pulling a small cocoa colored boy with her, pushing him in front of the Judge. "He's a friend of Mark's, Jamie. It's okay to talk to him." She urged the reluctant witness.

"And Mark is a friend of yours?" Jamie said softly.

"Yes, that's right. Now, tell the Judge what you told me, about the copper," Mandy ordered.

Hardcastle lead the nervous child to the nearest chair, estimating his age as no more than eight years old. "Can you describe the police officer who left with McCormick?"

"I don't have to, I know him. He's my third cousin on my mother's side, Felipe de Leon."

"I owe you, kid!" Hardcastle exclaimed. "Okay, Utombra, get de Leon in here."

Utombra ordered his second-in-command to bring de Leon to his office, snapping the intercom off angrily. "He will be here shortly. It is past time for end of shift so he might have gone home already, but my men carry their radios with them at all times. We will simply call him back in."

Mark eagerly swallowed the putrid drops of water dripping from the ceiling of the old stone room. At first, he had let the water dribble down his face, alleviating the heat somewhat, but unable to force himself to swallow the water. After what he guessed to be two days in the cell, Mark's qualms had faded as his thirst grew. Shouting had only served to make him hoarse, and the lack of water didn't help. He was no longer concerned with the scurrying sounds in the cell, the whisper of tiny feet on his hands and face. He knew that there were cockroaches in the room and probably rats as well.

The lack of food and water did eliminate one problem. He hadn't had to soil himself since the first night. Without anything in his stomach, there was nothing to come out of his bladder. "One hell of a vacation, Judge," Mark croaked.

He had developed the habit of talking out loud, usually to the Jduge. It seemed to make the waiting easier. His wrists were raw flesh from the frantic attempts to escape, but even the added lubricant of blood didn't help him get his hands free. His captors were very efficient, securing the shackles into the wall so that Mark's most determined efforts were ineffective.

"Aw, Judge, aren't you gonna come in the nick of time?" Mark whispered.

A clang caught his attention and Mark drew in air, preparing to scream. The door opened and the man who had left him there two days earlier was looking him over.

"Didn't think you were coming back." Mark hung limply from the chains, his arms having long ago lost any feeling.

"Seems your friend Judge Hardcastle is more tenacious than I would have thought. He found out the name of the police officer who brought you here. I don't think Felipe will tell everything he knows, not right away, but I can't let you be found alive," the man explained.

"Gonna shoot me?"

"No, the sealing will simply be ahead of schedule. We are doing this job tonight and by the early morning light, there will be no trace of you. I'm afraid you will probably suffocate to death before you starve. The sealant is not supposed to allow air through."

Mark winced, biting his chapped lower lip. "I think I'd prefer to be shot."

"Perhaps so. I would too in your place, but there are houses nearby and a night guard who would hear the bullet. He is willing to allow our games and ancient ceremonies, but a gunshot would be more than could be kept quiet here."

"I thought no one could hear me. You mean, when I was screaming, the locals just ignored it?" Mark was shocked by this level of callousness.

"We have used this room for questioning of certain informers who had information that we needed. The screams were explained as games of sex, girls were hired to come here and be the proof for this story. After a while, the neighbors got used to the sounds of screams from this room. Pity, after you're sealed in here, we will have to find a new playground." The man moved closer to Mark, patting him on the cheek. "I am sorry you had to stumble inot our little meeting. Is there anything you might like me to send a relative? A personal momento?"

Mark realized that the man was truly sorry he had to entomb Mark, but that wouldn't stop him from doing it. He nodded. "Yeah. Could you send my medallion to Judge Hardcastle?" Mark coughed harshly, the dampness of the cell getting to him. "I don't know where he might be, but he lives in Malibu…"

"He is still on the island, searching for you. I can arrange for him to receive this." The man gently pulled the chain around in the faint light so he could open the clasp.

"You won't hurt him, willya?"

"I don't think so. He actually doesn't have any proof, and my partner and I will leaving on the next plane out of Nassau. The buyer you saw at the caves has already returned to your country. I will, of course, try to take care of Felipe, but if I cannot, he would not dare to implicate me personally. It would mean his death and he knows it. However, it wouldn't be impossible for him to give your location up, after some persuasive interrogation by the local police. Civil rights aren't quest as highly regarded here as they are in America. No doubt you've heard that?"

"Yeah, once or twice."

Hefting the silver medallion in his hand, the drug dealer left the room, closing the door. Mark heard the sounds of the trowels as they plastered the newly added stones with cement. The shadows of the workmen flickered back and forth near the boarded up window. Mark tried yelling for help, but no one answered. These men were either deaf or truly unconcerned at a man being entombed alive in the old cell.

He wasn't sure, but Mark thought it had been almost four hours when the last flicker of light disappeared in the room. The total darkness was frightening, bringing home clearly what was happening to him. His fellow inhabitants were also upset at the sudden cessation of light and the loss of the muted sounds of the water, the wind rustling through the palm trees, the far off sounds of traffic.

"Oh, God, help me," Mark prayed. "I really haven't asked you for anything since the Judge was shot. You came through for me then, so I hope you might now. I don't want to suffocate to death, not chained up here like this. Oh, please…" The long suppressed tears trickled out from his tightly squeezed eyes, the hunger, thirst and too many hours without sleep taking their toll.

Hanging from the shackles, Mark waited to see how long it would be before his breathing became labored, listening to the creatures of the darkness run about in panic, sometimes over his feet, occasionally dropping off the walls onto his face or arms before continuing their search for the outside world. Mark's shudders began to fade, the energy required for it too much to keep up.

Time began to distort, completing his disorientation that had started with the isolation. Giving up his struggles, Mark fell into a troubled sleep.

_/Slightly tweaked from the original version. For those who are interested, the Caribe force mentioned is from a 1970s era TV series of the same name which starred Stacy Keach. It was actually filmed in Miami and the Bahamas./_


	7. Chapter 7

7.

Hardcastle had spent hours questioning Felipe de Leon without success. He had confronted the policeman with Jamie's identification, but de Leon didn't even blink an eye. Taking a break, Hardcastle had returned to his hotel room, after warning Utombra that de Leon had better be there when he came back. He unlocked his hotel room, tripping over a package on the floor. Catching himself on the wall, Hardcastle frowned as he picked it up and tossed on the dresser where it skidded to a stop by the mirror. Hardcastle decided to take a shower, trying to think of something besides the missing McCormick.

The Judge came out of the bathroom, somewhat relaxed in his gym suit. He glanced at the package and, curious, ripped the box open. In the middle of a cotton ball sat McCormick's silver medallion, one of the few pieces of jewelry the missing man ever wore. There was a note underneath the cotton. His hand trembling, Hardcastle took the note out and unfolded it.

Dear Judge Hardcastle, (the note said) As you have probably guessed, I am the one who took your friend. He won't be joining you again, I'm sorry to say. He is a very inventive person, your McCormick, but he can identify me so he must be eliminated. It is unfortunately a slow death, but clean. He asked that this be given to you and I promised that I would. You may use your labs to discover where this note came from, but by then it will be too late to catch me and much too late for Mr. McCormick. Farewell.

Hardcastle gripped the medallion in his fist, heading out the door and back to the police station. He would get McCormick's location if he had to beat it out of de Leon.

He arrived at the station and felt his heart drop when he saw the ambulance leaving. Running inside, Hardcastle spotted Utombra, blood on his jacket, sitting on a bench outside his office.

"What happened?" Hardcastle growled.

Utombra looked up, his eyes filled with pain and anger. "I am sorry, I was wrong. I think I know where your friend may be, de Leon did not die immediately, he had time to tell me who his boss was and where he had originally taken Mr. McCormick. We cannot be certain he will still be there, but it is worth a try. Will you want to come?"

"You bet I do. Are you up to it?" The Judge pried the jacket up, seeing a bandage under the torn shirt.

"Yes, I would not miss this. I apologize again for my reluctance to help. I thought it was another case of the Americans trying to dictate to us. Come, my driver is waiting and I must cancel the call to your hotel. I thought you might want to accompany me."

Hardcastle followed Utombra to his car, the driver holding the door open. The drive was at speeds that even McCormick wouldn't have attempted.

"Excuse me, where are we going?"

"Felipe mumbled that McCormick was taken to the old fort. I can't imagine that he is still there, the flow of tourists would make it difficult to hide him, but it's the only clue we have," Utombra replied.

Arriving at the fort in what must have been record time, Utombra, Hardcastle and the driver began to search for signs of McCormick. Splitting up, Hardcastle walked to the lower levels, using the flashlight Lt. Utombra had lent him. The brown stones dripped with moisture, some covered with soft green moss. The corridor was uncomfortably cool, running below sea level. Reaching a dead end of white cement, Hardcastle turned to leave. Halfway up to the surface, he froze.

"Utombra! I think I've found something!" Hardcastle shouted.

The two police officers came running down the hall, finding Hardcastle poking at the new wall that dead ended the corridor.

"What is that?" Utombra asked. "We have not given permission for this to be done until next week. Originally it was scheduled for tomorrow morning, but was changed due to some protests. This area of the fort was considered unsafe. I wonder…Chaim, get a crowbar and call for help to knock this down."

The driver saluted, rushing to follow his superior's orders.

Mark was barely conscious, his breathing shallow and difficult to manage. He had tried to keep calm, knowing the oxygen would be used up that much faster, but the cold was becoming worse and the coughing was almost out of control. He knew the end was getting closer. He found his mind wandering. He was even hallucinating. Twice he thought he heard Hardcastle's voice, but when he tried to find him, there was no one there.

The cold had been painful, but now most of Mark's body was numb, either from the cold or from his cramped position. Mark felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier, not even his latest hallucination keeping them open. The tapping on the outside of the wall wasn't convincing enough to keep Mark from lapsing into the black void. At least he wouldn't know when death came. "Sorry, Hardcase," he murmured.

Utombra had rallied five other men to break through the wall. Even with the help, it took an hour to break through enough to see anything. Hardcastle wiggled through the hole, shining the flashlight's beam around, seeing the bodies of some rates on the floor. Leaning farther in, Hardcastle flashed the light to his left and then to his right. The light picked up a figure hanging in ancient manacles.

"He's here! Get this thing widened!" Hardcastle pulled back out of the way as the police officers backed at the partially set cement. It was still loose enough to be easy to break up, now that it was started, the older stones falling easily.

When the opening was wide enough to squeeze through, Hardcastle climbed in the dark cell. He lodged his flashlight so that it lit McCormick's corner of the room.

"Hey, kid? You okay?" Hardcastle reached back through the hole. "I'll need something to cut these chains off of him. And you'd better call for an ambulance."

"You shall have it."

Utombra climbed in, joining Hardcastle, his driver having brought the hacksaw from the car. He sawed through the chains that kept Mark hanging. McCormick fell into Hardcastle's arms. The wall was finally and completely destructed with the help of the Bahamas' finest.

Utombra ran the light over McCormick, seeing the blood-encrusted wrists where the man had struggled to escape. "That must have hurt horribly. It was a valiant attempt, though hopeless. Animals have been known to gnaw their limbs off to escape a trap."

"Yeah, so I've heard."

McCormick's cough continued, even while he was unconscious. Hardcsatle lifted him to a sitting position, holding him securely against his chest. "He sounds bad." Hardcastle said worriedly. "What do you think they did to him?"

"Perhaps nothing. Why bother? We had the alert out almost immediately after he was missing, with all the details. They would know Mr. McCormick was not a police officer, merely an unfortunate bystander. With their contacts in the police department, that information would have been given to them immediately, so other than eliminating him for his ability to identify him, there was no need to work him over."

"Gotta say this was less of a vacation than I had hoped." McCormick commented, holding Mandy in his arms while talking to Lt. Utombra and Mr. Greene. "I think I'll stay on the cruise boat next time. It's safer."

"If you recall, you ran off that boat while we were talking," Hardcastle commented.

"Hey, can we talk about this later?" Mark retorted, rubbing his wrist against his kneed, moving Mandy a bit to one side. There were thick white bandages on both wrists and a thick coat of lip balm on the chapped lips. He had been ordered by the doctors at the hospital to drink plenty of fluids and cut back on solid foods until his stomach adjusted itself again. The first thing Mark had done, after being released the next day from the island hospital, was burn his clothes. The medallion was back around his neck where it belonged, returned by Hardcastle with some gruff comments on hanging onto his personal property. And he had a cold to take home as a souvenir.

"Mark, I wish you'd stay, like you said before all this." Mandy leaned on Mark's leg, half-sitting on his other knee. Mark sat forward on his chair, brushing her pony tail over her shoulder, dropping a light kiss on her cheek.

"It wouldn't work out. The L.A. courts wouldn't let me move here. I'd have to get permission to move out of the city, much less out of the country. 'sides, didn't you say there wasn't much of a job opening for an ex-car thief?"

"Daddy'd give you a job, wouldn't you, Dad?" Mandy turned to her father.

"I would at that, Mark. Hell, with your background, you could get into security." Greene agreed. "And my wife and I would be glad to help you get your visa, put you up till you found a place, whatever you need."

Mark smiled. "Thanks, I really do appreciate it and if things ever get…well, if I decide to come here, I'll let you know, promise." He turned to the silent Hardcastle, the smile becoming a grin that bordered on a smirk. "See, somebody wants me. You don't have to put up with me any longer than you want to."

"Yeah, well, if you're so hot to move here, I'm sure I can arrange something." Hardcastle's face was cold, no emotion showing in his eyes. "These people are good enough for the courts to approve of as your sponsors."

Mark's grin slipped, sneezing twice in succession. "Yeah, fine. Why don't you take care of it for me? I'm gonna get a drink." He stalked out of the screened-in patio, slamming the door behind him.

Mandy glared at Hardcastle. "You're stupid!"

"Mandy! Behave," Greene ordered his daughter. "Although I tend to agree with her. Why are you pushing Mark away from you?"

"He wants to leave, I'm not gonna stop him." Hardcastle stood with his back to the three other people on the patio.

"I think you are wrong, your honor, but it is your concern. I must return to my duties, try to clean out my department of those who have sold their souls. Please have a pleasant trip back to the United States and do not judge my country by this incident." Utombra shook the two men's hands and nodded to Mandy.

"Judge," Greene said after the police lieutenant had left. "I have listened to nothing but Mark, and what I've heard leads me to believe him to be a fine man."

"He is," Hardcastle agreed, slumping into the nearest chair.

"He doesn't want to leave you," Mandy exclaimed, slipping into her father's lap. "He thinks you don't want him anymore."

"I don't know where he gets these fool ideas. He said about the same thing on the ship before he bolted."

"Tell him you want him to stay, Judge," Mandy said. "He's scared of being alone."

"Okay, okay. I'll talk to him." Hardcastle slowly went to the kitchen, uncertain of what he was going to say.

He saw McCormick slumped over the sink, his face in his hands. And then he knew just what would work. "Hey, kid? Don't leave." Unspoken was _don't leave me_.

Mark turned, smiling tentatively. "You sure?"

"Yeah. For a long time now. How about you?"

"Oh, yeah. It'll be tough. We'll fight. I'll take offense."

"As will I. As to it being tough, well, always has been, but…it'd be worse without. So?" Hardcastle asked. "Coming home with me, kiddo?"

Mark grinned, pulling his airplane ticket from his pocket and waving it at the Judge.

Hardcastle stepped forward, Mark moving back an equal distance. "This was a trick? McCormick!"

"Hardcastle!" Mark sprang for the door, Hardcastle close on his heels.

The end


End file.
